Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

Senior Vice President Vincent Creed was tall, very skinny, with closely cropped gray hair and a neat goatee. A well-tailored Astor and Black suit did a good job of bulking him out, but it could only go so far. The banker held out his hand as the trio drew close and Leopold shook it, surprised that Creed’s grip almost crushed his palm.

“Good morning, Gentlemen. And Lady,” said Creed, his dark eyes looking each of them up and down in turn. “Please, follow me to my office. This way.”

The thirtieth floor was a maze of corridors, branching out to connect the bank’s myriad departments into something resembling a cohesive whole. This floor, Leopold supposed, was designed to cater for the domestic efforts of their investment teams, based on the signage he could make out. Plaques above doors announced increasingly vague department names such as Intra-Continental Growth Strategy and Internal Reliability Growth . Creed kept up the pace and led them through to a waiting room at the end of the hallway, complete with receptionist, before pulling open a heavy glass door that opened up into a plush office.

“Come on through,” the banker said, stepping inside.

Leopold followed, with Jerome and Mary close behind. The room was light and spacious, with wall-to-ceiling glass providing a decent view of the city. A large desk faced the door and Creed took a seat behind it, gesturing toward the seating area against the back wall.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” said Creed, opening a drawer. He pulled out a glass decanter of amber liquid and four tumblers. “Can I offer anyone a drink? Single malt scotch, twenty years old.”

Mary pulled out her police shield and held it up. “Not today. My name is Detective Jordan. I assume you know why we're here.”

The banker eyed Mary warily before relaxing and pouring himself a healthy measure of whisky. “It's an ancient tradition, toasting a fallen comrade.” He raised the glass to his lips. “Terrible news. I got the call early this morning.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Gordon?”

Creed ignored the question, turning his gaze upon Leopold. “So, Mr. Blake. How are you wrapped up in all this?”

“I'd answer the lady's question, if I were you,” he replied. “She has a habit of getting what she wants. Eventually.”

The banker straightened up and set his glass down on the desk. He stood and turned to face the window. “Teddy was a good man. A good worker. He looked after a great deal of money for our clients; he was always top tier. Teddy made a lot of people very rich, but there are always those who suffer as a consequence. It's part of life. Something that Teddy knew all too well.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mary.

“There were threats. Nothing out of the ordinary. Some clients lose money; we can't win them all. The private investors sometimes get a little passionate about their portfolios.” He sighed. “You have to understand, we take on a mix of clients. Teddy looked after mostly corporate accounts, but everyone takes a quota of private individuals looking to pad their retirement funds. Sometimes...” he trailed off. “Sometimes they don't get as much attention. They take it badly.”

“Did anything specific happen to Mr. Gordon?”

“Teddy met his wife here at Needham,” said Creed. “Did you know that? In this line of work, it pays to have someone at your back. Teddy did well to find his early. Helped him climb the ladder. Marriage isn't for everyone.” He turned back to the desk and drained his glass. “But I digress. To answer your question: yes, there were threats. I'll have my secretary dig out the details.”

“Tell me more about the wife,” said Mary.

“Melissa Gordon,” said Creed. “Nice enough girl. She had drive, that one. It's a shame really, what happened.”

“Tell me.”

“I'm guessing you're my first port of call, so to speak,” he said, with a slight trace of amusement. “Well, I'm sure your due diligence would have turned it up anyway.” He poured himself another drink. “Teddy and Melissa met a few years ago, working a buy side portfolio for one of the bank's up-and-coming accounts. They hit it off. She elected to take some time off after she got pregnant, but things didn't work out. Hit them both hard. Hit her worst of all. Her career took a nosedive. Teddy worked hard to try and make up for lost time. The man's a machine.” He drained his drink once more. “Was a machine.”

“They lost the baby?”

“Yes. And she was never the same afterwards. We ended up transferring her to a smaller office uptown, but she didn’t like the idea. Eventually, she quit.”

“What did this mean for Mr. Gordon?”

“Like I said, he worked hard to pick up the slack. Hell, it wasn’t long before he was earning more than enough money on his own, but he kept on going. Unfortunately, at the expense of some of our smaller accounts.”

“And these smaller investors got angry,” said Mary. “Maybe wanted some answers?”

Creed sat down again. “Like I said, I’ll have my secretary get the details for you. There was one guy in particular, used to show up at the office all the time. Briggs, I think his name was. Or Higgs. Something like that.”

“Anything happen?”

“Yeah, it got pretty hairy on occasion. Guy tried to follow Teddy home once or twice. He denies it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they came to blows.”

“We’ll get the details from your assistant. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

“Thank you, Mr. Creed.” Mary stood up. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

The senior banker nodded curtly but remained seated, his gaze now fixed on the remnants of the scotch. Leopold knew the look well.

Vincent Creed was hiding something.

The secretary, a young man who introduced himself as Brian, handed them a printout of names and addresses after a few minutes of fiddling with his computer. The list contained a dozen entries, each with a short description, and Brian told them to work from the top down. Leopold had thanked him and stuffed the list into his jacket pocket, before leading the three of them back down to the lobby and outside onto the sidewalk. Jerome set off to retrieve the car.

“That’s police evidence,” said Mary, reaching out a hand. “Give it here.”

“Not a chance,” said Leopold. “You need me on this case, even if you don’t know it yet. If I give you this, you’ll try to shut me out. That would be a mistake.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. What the hell do you know about murder cases?”

“More than you think.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She folded her arms, apparently annoyed at her own temper.

“Like Creed wasn’t telling us everything.”

“I know that, dumbass. I’m a cop. I can smell bullshit a mile away.”

“That’s not all. The photographs you took of the crime scene – did you happen to notice anything a little odd about the body?”

“I told you already, the autopsy won’t be for a few days.”

“I’m not talking about using the autopsy report,” said Leopold. “I’m talking about using your eyes. Actually look at the photos.” He pulled a full-page print from the manila folder under his arm and prodded the paper with an index finger. “Tell me, what do you see here?”

Mary took a step back. “What the hell are you talking about?”